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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



SONG-SURF 



By the Same Author 



Nirvana Days 

Yolanda of Cyprus 

A Night in Avignon 

Charles di Tocca 

David 

Many Gods 



SONG-SURF 



BY 



CALE YOUNG RICE 




NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

MOMX 






ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 



COPYRIGHT, 19 lO, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
PUBLISHED, SEPTEMBER, IQIO 



'GLA271727 



TO 

» 

J MY SISTERS 



FOREWORD 

These poems, first published as " Song- 
Surf " in 1900, by a firm which failed before 
the book left the press, were republished 
with additions as the "lyrics" of "Plays & 
Lyrics," by Hodder & Stoughton, of Lon- 
don, in 1905. Revision and omissions have 
been made for this volume of a uniform 
edition in which they now appear. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

With Omar 3 

Jael 16 

To THE Sea 22 

The Day-Moon 25 

A Sea-Ghost 27 

On the Moor 29 

The Cry OF Eve 31 

Mary at Nazareth 35 

Adelh 38 

Intimation 40 

In July 41 

From Above 44 

By the Indus 45 

Evocation 47 

The Child God Gave 49 

The Winds 51 

Transcended 54 

Love's Way to Childhood 55 

Autumn 57 

Shinto 58 

Maya 60 

iz 



X CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Japanese Mother 62 

The Dead Gods 64 

Call to Your Mate, Bob-White .... 68 

The Dying Poet 70 

The Outcast 73 

April 76 

August Guests 78 

To A Dove 79 

At Tintern Abbey 81 

Oh, Go Not Out 83 

Human Love 85 

Ashore 86 

The Victory 88 

At Winter's End 89 

Mother-Love 91 

To a Singing Warbler 93 

Songs TO A. H. R.: 

I. The World's, and Mine .... 95 

II. Love-Call in Spring 96 

III. Mating 97 

IV. Untold 98 

V. Love- Watch 99 

VI. At Amalfi 99 

VII. On the Pacific loi 

The Atoner 103 

To the Spring Wind 104 

The Ramble 105 

Return 108 

LiSETTE . ....... Ill 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

From One Blind n^ 

In a Cemetery 114 

Waking 116 

Storm-Ebb u^ 

Lingering up 

Faun-Call 121 

The Lighthouseman 123 

Serenity 125 

Wanton June 127 

Spirit of Rain 129 

Tearless 131 

Sunset-Lovers 133 

The Empty Cross 135 

Unburthened 137 

To Her Who Shall Come 139 

Storm-Twilight 142 

Slaves 143 

Avowal to the Nightingale 144 

Before Autumn 147 

Fulfilment 149 

Last Sight of Land 151 

Silence 153 



SONG-SURF 



WITH OMAR 

I SAT with Omar by the Tavern door, 
Musing the mystery of mortals o'er, 

And soon with answers alternate we strove 
Whether, beyond death, Life hath any shore. 

** Come f fill the cup^^ said he. ''In the fire of Spring 
Your Winter -garment of Repentance fiing. 

The Bird of Time has but a little way 
To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.''* 



"The Bird of Time?" I answered. "Then have I 
No heart for Wine. Must we not cross the Sky 

Unto Eternity upon his wings — 
Or, failing, fall into the Gulf and die?" 
3 



4 SONG-SURF 

^^ Ay; so ^ for the Glories of this World sigh somej 
And some for the Prophet'' s Paradise to come; 

But you, Friend, take the Cash — the Credit leave, 
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum I" 



"What ! take the Cash and let the Credit go? 
Spend all upon the Wine the while I know 

A possible To-morrow may bring thirst 
For Drink but Credit then shall cause to flow ? 



** Yea, make the most of what you yet muy spend, 
Before we too into the Dust descend; 

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie. 
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End I " 

"Into the Dust we shall descend — we must. 
But can the soul not break the crumbling Crust 

In which he is encaged? To hope or to 
Despair he will — which is more wise or just?" 



SONG-SURF 5 

" The worldly hope men set then hearts upon 
Turns Ashes — or it prospers: and anon. 

Like Snow upon the Deserfs dusty Face, 
Lighting a little hour or two — is gone.'* 



"Like Snow it comes — to cool one burning Day; 
And like it goes — for all our plea or sway. 

But flooding tears nor Wine can ever purge 
The Vision it has brought to us away." 



''But to this world we come and Why not knowings 
Nor Whence, like water willy-nilly flowing; 

And out of it, as Wind along the waste, 
We know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.*' 



"True, little do we know of Why or Whence. 
But is forsooth our Darkness evidence 

There is no Light ? — the worm may see no star 
The' heaven with myriad multitudes be dense." 



6 SONG-SURF 

**But, all unasked, we'' re hither hurried Whence? 
And, all unasked, we're Whither hurried hence? 

O, many a cup of this forbidden Wine 
Must drown the memory of that insolence" 



"Yet can not — ever! For it is forbid 
Still by that quenchless Soul within us hid, 

Which cries, * Feed — feed me not on Wine alone, 
For to Immortal Banquets I am bid.' " 



*^Well oft I think that never blows so red 
The Rose as where some buried Ccesar bled: 

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears 
Dropt in her lap from some once lovely Head.'^ 



"Then if, from the dull Clay thro' with Life's throes, 
More beautiful spring Hyacinth and Rose, 

Will the great Gardener for the uprooted soul 
Find Use no sweeter than — useless Repose?" 



SONG-SURF 

^^We cannot know — so Jill the cup that clears 
To-day of past regret and future fears: 

To-morrow/ — Why, To-morrow we may be 
Ourselves with Yesterday^s sev'n thousand Years^ 



''No Cup there is to bring oblivion 
More during than Regret and Fear — no, nonet 
For Wine that's Wine to-day may change and be 
Marah before to-n: )rrow's Sands have run." 



^^ Myself when young did eagerly frequent 
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument 

About it and about: but evermore 
Came out by the same Door where in I went." 



"The doors of Argument may lead Nowhither, 
Reason become a Prison where may wither 
From sunless eyes the Infinite, from hearts 
All Hope, when their sojourn too long is thither.'* 



8 SONG-SURF 

*^ Up from Earth^s Centre thro^ the Seventh Gate 
I rose, and on the throne of Saturn sate^ 

And many a Knot unravelled by the Road — 
Bui not the Master-knot of Human fate^ 



"The Master-knot knows but the Master-hand 
That scattered Saturn and his countless Band 

Like seeds upon the unplanted heaven's Air: 
The Truth we reap from them is Chaff thrice fanned." 

" Yet if the Soul can fling the Dust aside 
And naked on the air of Heaven ride^ 

WerH not a shame — werH not a shame for him 
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?'' 

*'No, for a day bound in this Dust may teach 
More of the Saki's Mind than we can reach 

Through aeons mounting still from Sky to Sky — 
May open through all Mystery a breach." 



SONG-SURF 

" You speak as if Existence closing your 
Account f and mine, should know the like no more; 

The Eternal Sakifrom that Bowl has poured 
Millions of bubbles like us, and will pour." 

"Bubbles we are, pricked by the point of Death. 
But, in each bubble, may there be no Breath 

That lifts it and at last to Freedom flies, 
And o'er all heights of Heaven wandereth?'* 

"i4 moment's halt — a momentary taste 
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste — 

And Lo — the phantom Caravan has reached 
The Nothing it set out from — Oh, make haste I" 



"And yet it should be — it should be that we 
Who drink shall drink of Immortality. 

The Master of the Well has much to spare: 
Will He say, 'Taste' — then shall we no more be?" 



lo SONG-SURF 

^*The Moving Finger turtles; and having writ^ 
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit 
Shall lure it back to cancel half a linCy 
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it." 

"And were it other, might we not erase 
The Letter of some Sorrow in whose place 

No truer sounding, we should fail to spell 
The Heart which yearns behind the mock-world's 
Face?" 

"Well, this I know; whether the one True Light 
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me, quite, 
One flash of it within the Tavern caught 
Better than in the Temple lost outright.'^ 

"In Temple or in Tavern 't may be lost. 
And everywhere that Love hath any Cost 

It may be found; the Wrath it seems is but 
A Cloud whose Dew should make its power most." 



SONG-SURF 

"But see His Presence thro* Creation* s veins 
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; 

Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and 
They change and perish all — hut He remains." 



'*A11 — it may be. Yet lie to sleep, and lo, 
The soul seems quenched in Darkness — is it so? 

Rather believe what seemeth not than seems 
Of Death — until we know — until we know** 



"So wastes the Hour — gone in the vain pursuit 
Of This and That we strive o*er and dispute. 

Better he jocund with the fruitful Grape 
Than sadden after none, or hitter, Fruit.** 



"Better — unless we hope that grief is thrown 
Across our Path by urgence of the Unknown, 
Lest we may think we have no more to live 
And bide content with dim-ht Earth alone.'* 



12 SONG-SURF 

*' Then, strange, isH not ? that of the myriads who 
Before us passed the dvor of Darkness through 

Not one returns to tell us of the Road, 
Which to discover we must travel too?'* 



"Such is the Ban! but even though we heard 
Love in Life's All we still should crave the word 
Of one returned. Yet none is sure, we know, 
Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred." 

''Send then thy Soul through the Invisible 
Some letter of the After-life to spell: 

And by and by thy Soul returned to thee 
But answers, '/ myself am Heaven and Hell.* '* 



"From the Invisible, he does. But sent 

Thro' Earth, where living Goodness tho' 'tis blent 

With E-sil dures, may he not read the Voice, 
*To make thee but for Death were toil ill spent'?" 



SONG-SURF 13 

"Well, when the Angel of the darker drink 
At last shall find us by the river-brink 

And offering his Cup invite our souls 
Forth to our lips to quaff, we shall not shrink," 

"No. But if in the sable Cup we knew 
Death without waking were the wilful brew, 

Nobler it were to curse as Coward Him 
Who roused us into light — then Hght withdrew." 

" Then Thou who didst with pitfall and with gin 
Beset the Road I was to wander in, 

Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round 
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin^ 



"He will not. If one e\'il we endure 
To ultimate Debasing, oh, be sure 

'Tis not of Him predestined, and the sin 
Not His nor ours — but Fate's He could not cure." 



14 SONG-SURF 

** Yet, ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! 
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should closel 

The Nightingale that on the branches sang, 
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows ?^* 



**So does it seem — no other joys like these! 

Yet Summer comes, and Autumn's honoured ease; 

And wintry Age, is't ever whisperless 
Of that Last Spring, whose Verdure may not cease?" 

^' Still, would some winged Angel ere too late 
Arrest the yet unfolded roll of Fate, 

And make the stern Recorder otherwise 
Enregister, or quite obliterate/" 



"To otherwise enregister believe 

He toils eternally, nor asks Reprieve. 

And could Creation perfect from his hands 
Have come at Dawn, none overmuch should grieve." 



SONG-SURF IS 

So till the wan and early scent of day 
We strove, and silent turned at last away, 

Thinking how men in ages yet unborn 
Would ask and answer — trust and doubt and pray. 



JAEL 

Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou 

not stronger than gods of the heathen? 
I slew him, that Sisera, prince 

of the host Thou dost hate. 
But fear of his blood is upon me, 

about me is breathen 
His spirit — by night and by day 

come voices that wait. 

Athirst and affrightened he fled from 
the star-wrought waters of Kishon. 

His face was as wool when he swooned 
at the door of my tent. 

The Lord hath given him into 
the hand of perdition, 
i6 



SONG-SURF 17 

I smiled — but he saw not the face 
of my cunning intent. 

He thirsted for water: I fed him 

the curdless milk of the cattle. 
He lay in the tent under purple 

and crimson of Tyre. 
He slept and he dreamt of the surge 

and storming of battle. 
Ah ha! but he woke not to waken 

Jehovah's ire. 

He slept as he were a chosen 

of Israel's God Almighty. 
A dog out of Canaan ! — thought he 

I was woman alone? 
I sHpt like an asp to his ear 

and laughed for the sight he 
Would give when the carrion kites 

should tear to his bone. 



i8 SONG-SURF 

I smote thro' his temple the nail, 

to the dust, a worm, did I bind him. 
My heart was a-leap with rage 

and a-quiver with scorn. 
And I danced with a holy delight 

before and behind him — 
I that am called blessed o'er all 

unto Judah born. 

**Aye, come, I will show thee, O Barak, 

a woman is more than a warrior," 
I cried as I lifted the door 

wherein Sisera lay. 
"To me did he fly and I 

shall be called his destroyer — 
I, Jael, who am subtle to find 

for the Lord a way!" 

Above all the daughters of men 
be blest — of Gilead or Asshur," 



SONG-SURF 19 

Sang Deborah, prophetess, then, from 

her waving palm. 
"Behold her, ye people, behold her 

the heathen's abasher; 
Behold her the Lord hath uplifted — 

behold and be calm! 

"The mother of him at the window 

looks out thro' the lattice to listen — 
Why roll not the wheels of his chariot? 

why does he stay? 
Shall he not return with the booty 

of battle, and gHsten 
In songs of his triumph — ye women, 

why do ye not say?" 

And I was as she who danced when 
the Seas were rended asunder 

And stood, until Egypt pressed in 
to be drowned unto death. 



SONG-SURF 

My breasts were as fire with the glory, 

the rocks that were under 
My feet grew quick with the gloating 

that beat in my breath. 

At night I stole out where they cast him, 

a sop to the jackal and raven. 
But his bones stood up in the moon 

and I shook with affright. 
The strength shrank out of my limbs 

and I fell, a craven. 
Before him — the nail in his temple 

gleamed bloodily bright. 

Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou 
not stronger than gods of the heathen? 

I slew him, that Sisera, prince 
of the host Thou dost hate. 

But fear of his blood is upon me, 
about me is breathen 



SONG-SURF 

His spirit — by day and by night 
come voices that wait 



I fly to the desert, I fly to the 

mountain — but they will not hide me. 
His gods haunt the winds and the caves 

with vengeance that cries 
For judgment upon me; the stars in 

their courses deride me — 
The stars Thou hast hung with a breath 

in the wandering skies. 

Jehovah! Jehovah! I slew him, 

the scourge and sting of Thy Nation. 
Take from me his spirit, take from me 

the voice of his blood. 
With madness I rave — by day 

and by night, defamation! 
Jehovah, release me! Jehovah! 

if still Thou art God! 



TO THE SEA 

Art thou enraged, O sea, with the blue peace 
Of heaven, so to uplift thine armed waves, 
Thy billowing rebellion 'gainst its ease, 
And with Tartarean mutter from cold caves. 
From shuddering profundities where shapes 
Of awe glide thro' entangled leagues of ooze. 
To hoot thy watery omens evermore. 
And evermore thy moanings interfuse 
With seething necromancy and mad lore? 

Or, dost thou labour with the drifting bones 
Of countless dead, thou mighty Alchemist, 
Within whose stormy crucible the stones 
Of sunk primordial shores, granite and schist, 
Are crumbled by thine all-abrasive beat? 



SONG-SURF 33 

With immemorial chanting to the moon, 
And cosmic incantation, dost thou crave 
Rest to be found not till thy wild be strewn 
Frigid and desert over earth's last grave? 

Thou seemest with immensity mad, blind — 
With raving deaf, with wandering forlorn; 
Parent of Demogorgon whose dire mind 
Is night and earthquake, shapeless shame and 

scorn 
Of the o'ermounting birth of Harmony. 
Bound in thy briny bed and gnawing earth 
With foamy writhing and fierce-panted tides, 
Thou art as Fate in torment of a dearth 
Of black disaster and destruction's strides. 

And how thou dost drive silence from the 

world. 
Incarnate Motion of all mystery! 
Whose waves are fury-wings, whose winds are 

hurled 



24 SONG-SURF 

Whither thy Ghost tempestuous can see 

A desolate apocalypse of death. 

Oh, how thou dost drive silence from the world, 

With emerald overflowing, waste on waste 

Of flashing susurration, dashed and swirled 

O'er isles and continents that shrink abased! 

Nay, frustrate Hope art thou, of the Unknown, 
Gathered from primal mist and firmament; 
A surging shape of Life's unfathomed moan. 
Whelming humanity with fears unmeant. 
Yet do I love thee, O, above all fear. 
And loving thee unconquerably trust 
The runes that from thy ageless surfing start 
Would read, were they revealed, gust upon 

gust, 
That Immortality is might of heart! 



THE DAY-MOON 

So wan, so unavailing, 
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing! 

Last night, sphered in thy shining, 
A Circe — mystic destinies divining; 

To-day but as a feather 
Torn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather, 

Down-drifting from the portals 
Of Paradise, unto the land of mortals. 

Yet do I feel thee awing 
My heart with mystery, as thy updrawing 

Moves thro' the tides of Ocean 
And leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion; 

25 



26 SONG-SURF 

Or strands upon near shallows 
The wreck whose weirded form at night 
unhallows 

The fisher maiden's prayers — 
"For himl — that storms may take not 
unawares!" 

So wan, so unavailing, 
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing! 

But Night shall come atoning 
Thy phantom life thro' day, and high enthroning 

Thee in her chambers arrased 
With star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassed 

To ghde with silvery passion. 
Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen. 



A SEA-GHOST 

Oh, fisher-fleet, go in from the sea 

And furl your wings. 
The bay is gray with the twilit spray 

And the loud surf springs. 



The chill buoy-bell is rung by the hands 

Of all the drowned. 
Who know the woe of the wind and tow 

Of the tides around. 



Go in, go in! Oh, haste from the sea, 

And let them rest — 
A son and one who was wed and one 

Who went down unblest. 
27 



28 SONG-SURF 

Aye, even as I, whose hands at the bell 

Now labour most. 
The tomb has gloom, but Oh, the doom 

Of the drear sea-ghost! 

He evermore must wander the ooze 

Beneath the wave. 
Forlorn — to warn of the tempest born, 

And to save — to save! 

Then go, go in! and leave us the sea. 

For only so 
Can peace release us and give us ease 

Of our salty woe. 



ON THE MOOR 

I 
I MET a child upon the moor 

A-wading down the heather; 
She put her hand into my own, 

We crossed the fields together. 

I led her to her father's door — 

A cottage mid the clover. 
I left her — and the world grew poor 

To me, a childless rover. 

2 

I met a maid upon the moor, 
The morrow was her wedding. 

Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues 
Than the eve-star was shedding. 
29 



30 SONG-SURF 

She looked a sweet good-bye to me, 
And o'er the stile went singing. 

Down all the lonely night I heard 
But bridal bells a-ringing. 

3 

I met a mother on the moor, 
By a new grave a-praying. 

The happy swallows in the blue 
Upon the winds were playing. 

*' Would I were in his grave," I said, 
"And he beside her standing! " 

There was no heart to break if death 
For me had made demanding. 



THE CRY OF EVE 

Down the palm-way from Eden in the mid- 
night 
Lay dreaming Eve by her outdriven mate, 
Pillowed on lilies that still told the sweet 
Of birth within the Garden's ecstasy. 
Pitiful round her face that could not lose 
Its memory of God's perfecting was strewn 
Her troubled hair, and sigh grieved after sigh 
Along her loveliness in the white moon. 
Then sudden her dream, too cruelly impent 
With pain, broke and a cry fled shuddering 
Into the wounded stillness from her lips — 
As, cold, she fearfully felt for his hand, 
And tears, that had before ne'er visited 
Her lids with anguish, drew from her the moan: 
31 



32 SONG-SURF 

"Oh, Adam! What have I dreamed? 

Now do I understand His words, so dim 

To creatures that had quivered but with bHss! 

Since at the dusk thy kiss to me, and I 

Wept at caresses that were once all joy, 

I have slept, seeing through Futurity 

The uncreated ages visibly! 

Foresuffering phantoms crowded in the womb 

Of Time, and all with lamentable mien 

Accusing without mercy, thee and me! 

And without pity! for tho' some were far 

From birth, and without name, others were near — 

Sodom and dark Gomorrah — from whose flames 

Fleeing one turned . . . how like her look to mine 

When the tree's horror trembled on my taste! 

And Babylon upbuilded on our sin; 

And Nineveh, a city sinking slow 

Under a shroud of sandy centuries 

That hid me not from the buried cursing eyes 

Of women who e'er-bitterly gave birth! 



SONG-SURF S3 

Ah, to be mother of all misery! 
To be first-called out of the earth and fail 
For a whole world! To shame maternity 
For women evermore — women whose tears 
Flooding the night, no hope can wipe away! 
To see the wings of Death, as, Adam, thou 
Hast not, endlessly beating, and to hear 
The swooning ages suffer up to God! 
And Oh, that birth-cry of a guiltless child 
In it are sounding of our sin and woe, 
With prophesy of ill beyond all years! 
Yearning for beauty never to be seen — 
Beatitude redeemless evermore! 



"And I whose dream mourned with all motherhood 
Must hear it soon! Already do soft skill, 
Assuasive lulls, enticings and quick tones 
Of tenderness — that will like light awake 
The folded memory children shall bring 
Out of the dark — move in me longingly. 



34 SONG-SURF 

Yet thou, Adam, dear fallen thought of God, 
Thou, when thou too shalt hear humanity 
Cry in thy child, wilt groaning wish the world 
Back in unsummoned Void! and, woe! wilt fill 
God's ear with troubled wonder and unrest!" 



Softly he soothed her straying hair, and kissed 
The fever from her lips. Over the palms 
The sad moon poured her peace into their eyes, 
Till Sleep, the angel of forgetfulness, 
Folded again dark wings above their rest. 



MARY AT NAZARETH 

I KNOW, Lord, Thou hast sent Him 
Thou art so good to me ! — 
But Thou hast only lent Him, 
His heart's for Thee! 



I dared — Thy poor hand-maiden 
Not ask a prophet-child: 
Only a boy-babe laden 
For earth — and mild. 



But this one Thou hast given 
Seems not for earth — or me! 
His lips flame truth from heaven, 
And vanity 

35 



36 SONG-SURF 

Seem all my thoughts and prayers 
When He but speaks Thy Law; 
Out of my heart the tares 
Are torn by awe! 



I cannot look upon Him, 
So strangely burn His eyes — 
Hath not some grieving drawn Him 
From Paradise? 



For Thee, for Thee I'd live, Lord! 
Yet oft I almost fall 
Before Him — Oh, forgive. Lord, 
My sinful thrall! 



But e'en when He was nursing, 
A baby at my breast. 
It seemed He was dispersing 
The world's unrest. 



SONG-SURF 37 

Thou bad'st me call Him "Jesus," 
And from our heavy sin 
I know He shall release us, 
From Sheol win. 



But, Lord, forgive! the yearning 
That He may sometimes be 
Like other children, learning 
Beside my knee, 

Or playing, prattling, seeking 
For help — comes to my heart. 
Ah sinful, Lord, I'm speaking - 
How good Thou art! 



ADELIL 

Proud Adelil! Proud Adelil! 
Why does she lie so cold? 

(I made her shrink, I made her reel, 
I made her white hds fold.) 



We sat at banquet, many maids, 
She Hke a Valkyr free. 

(I hated the ghtter of her braids, 
I hated her blue eye's glee!) 



In emerald cups was poured the mead; 
Icily blew the night. 

(But tears unshed and woes that bleed 
Brew bitterness and spite.) 
38 



SONG-SURF 

"A goblet to my love!" she cried, 
"Prince where the sea- winds fly!" 
(Her love! — it was for that he died, 
And for it she should die.) 

She lifted the cup and drank — she saw 
A heart within its lees. 

(I laughed Hke the dead who feel the thaw 
Of summer in the breeze.) 

They looked upon her stricken still, 
And sudden they grew appalled. 
(''It is thy lover's heart!" I shrill 
As the sea-crow to her called.) 

Palely she took it — did it give 
Ease there against her breast? 

(Dead — dead she swooned, but I cannot 
live. 
And dead I shall not rest.) 



39 



INTIMATION 

All night I smiled as I slept, 

For I heard the March-wind feel 

Blindly about in the trees without 
For buds to heal. 

All night in dreams, for I smelt, 
In the rain-wet woods and fields. 

The coming flowers and the glad green hours 
That summer yields. 

All night — and when at dawn 
I woke with the blue-bird's cheep, 

Winter with all its chill and pall 
Seemed but a sleep. 
40 



IN JULY 

This path will tell me where dark daisies dance 
To the white sycamores that dell them in; 
Where crow and flicker cry melodious din, 
And blackberries in ebon ripeness glance 
Luscious enticings under briery green. 
It v;ill slip under coppice limbs that lean 
Brushingly as the slow-belled heifer pants 

Toward weedy water-plants 
That shade the pool-sunk creek's reluctant trance. 

I shall find bell-flower spires beside the gap 
And lady phlox within the hollow's cool; 
Cedar with sudden memories of Yule 
Above the tangle tipped with blue skullcap. 
The high hot mullein fond of the full sun 
41 



42 SONG-SURF 

Will watch and tell the low mint when I've won 
The hither wheat where idle breezes nap, 

And fluffy quails entrap 
Me from their brood that crouch to escape mishap. 

Then I shall reach the mossy water-way 
That gullies the dense hill up to its peak, 
There dally Hstening to the eerie eke 
Of drops into cool chalices of clay. 
Then on, for elders odorously will steal 
My senses till I climb up where they heal 
The livid heat of its malingering ray. 

And wooingly betray 
To memory many a long-forgotten day. 

There I shall rest within the woody peace 
Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed 
With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed, 
Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece; 
The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls 



SONG-SURF 43 

To Solitude thro' aged forest halls, 

Will waft into me their mysterious ease, 

And in the wind's soft cease 
I shall hear hintings of eternities. 



FROM ABOVE 

What do I care if the trees are bare 
And the hills are dark 
And the skies are gray. 

What do I care for chill in the air 

For crows that cark 

At the rough wind's way. 

What do I care for the dead leaves there 
Or the sullen road 
By the sullen wood. 

There's heart in my heart 
To bear my load! 
So enough, the day is good! 
44 



BY THE INDUS 

Thou art late, O Moon, 
Late, 

I have waited thee long. 
The nightingale's flown to her nest, 

Sated with song. 
The champak hath no odour more 
To pour on the wind as he passeth o'er 

But my heart it will not rest. 



Thou art late, O Love, 
Late, 

For the moon is a-wane. 
The kusa-grass sighs with my sighs. 

Burns with my pain. 

45 



46 SONG-SURF 

The lotus leans her head on the stream — 

Shall I not lean to thy breast and dream, 

Dream ere the night-cool dies? 



Thou art late, O Death, 
Late, 

For he did not come! 
A pariah is my heart, 

Cast from him — dumb! 
I cannot cry in the jungle's deep — 
Is it not time for the Tomb — and Sleep ? 

O Death, strike with thy dart! 



EVOCATION 
(NiKKO, Japan, 1905) 

Dim thro' the mist and cryptomeria 

Booms the temple bell, 
Down from the tomb of leyasii 

Yearning, as a knell. 

Down from the tomb where many an aeon 

Silently has knelt; 
Many a pilgrimage of millions — 

Still about it felt. 

Still, for I see them gather ghostly 

Now, as the numb sound 
Floats, an unearthly necromancy, 

From the past's dead ground. 
47 



48 SONG-SURF 

See the invisible vast millions, 

Hear their soundless feet 
Climbing the shrine-ways to the gilded 

Carven temple's seat. 

And, one among them — pale among them 

Passes waning by. 
What is it tells me mystically 

That strange one was I ? . . . 

Weird thro' the mist and cryptomeria 
Dies the bell — 'tis dumb. 

After how many lives returning 
Shall I hither come? 

Hither again! and climb the votive 

Ever mossy ways? 
Who shall the gods be then, the millions 

Meek, entreat or praise? 



THE CHILD GOD GAVE 

"Give me a little child 

To draw this dreary want out of my breast," 

I cried to God. 
"Give, for my days beat wild 
With loneliness that will not rest 
But under the still sod!" 

It came — with groping lips 

And little fingers stealing aimlessly 

About my heart. 
I was like one who slips 
A-sudden into Ecstasy 
And thinks ne'er to depart. 

"Soon he will smile," I said, 
"And babble baby love into my ears — 
49 



50 SONG-SURF 

How it will thrill!" 
I waited — Oh, the dread, 
The clutching agony, the fears! — 
He was so strange and still. 

Did I curse God and rave 

When they came shrinkingly to tell me 'twas 

A witless child? 
No ... I ... I only gave 
One cry . . . just one. . . I think . . 

because . . . 
You know ... he never smiled 



THE WINDS 

The East Wind is a Bedouin, 

And Nimbus is his steed; 
Out of the dusk with the lightning's thin 
Blue scimitar he flies afar, 

Whither his rovings lead. 
The Dead Sea waves 
And Egypt caves 

Of mummied silence laugh 
When he mounts to quench the Siroc's stench 

And to wrench 

From his clutch the tyrant's staff. 

The West Wind is an Indian brave 

Who scours the Autumn's crest. 
Dashing the forest down as a slave, 
SI 



52 SONG-SURF 

He tears the leaves from its limbs and weaves 
A maelstrom for his breast. 
Out of the night 
Crying to fright 
The earth he swoops to spoil — 
There is furious scathe in the whirl of his wrath, 
In his path 
There is misery and moil. 



The North Wind is a Viking — cold 

And cruel, armed with death! 
Born in the doomful deep of the old 
Ice Sea that froze ere Ymir rose 

From Niflheim's ebon breath. 
And with him sail 
Snow, Frost, and Hail, 

Thanes mighty as their lord, 
To plunder the shores of Summer's stores 

And his roar 's 

Like the sound of Chaos' horde. 



SONG-SURF 53 

The South Wind is a Troubadour; 

The Spring 's his serenade. 
Over the mountain, over the moor, 
He blows to bloom from the winter's tomb 

Blossom and leaf and blade. 
He ripples the throat 
Of the lark with a note 

Of lilting love and bliss, 
And the sun and the moon, the night and the noon, 

Are a-swoon — 

When he woos them with his kiss. 



TRANSCENDED 

I WHO was learned in death's lore 

Oft held her to my heart 
And spoke of days when we should love no more — 

In the long dust, apart. 

''Immortal?'' No — it could not be, 

Spirit with flesh must die. 
Tho' heart should pray and hope make endless plea, 

Reason would still outcry. 



She died. They wrapped her in the dust — 

I heard the dull clod's dole. 
And then I knew she lived — that death's dark lust 

Could never touch her soul! 
54 



LOVE'S WAY TO CHILDHOOD 

We are not lovers, you and I, 

Upon this sunny lane, 
But children who have never known 

Love's joy or pain. 



The trees we pass, the summer brook, 
The bird that o'er us darts — 

We do not know 'tis they that thrill 
Our childish hearts. 



The earth-things have no name for us, 
The ploughing means no more 

Than that they like to walk the fields 
Who plough them o'er. 

55 



56 SONG-SURF 

The road, the wood, the heaven, the hills 
Are not a World to-day — 

But just a place God's made for us 
In which to play. 



AUTUMN 

I KNOW her not by fallen leaves 
Or resting heaps of hay; 

Or by the sheathing mists of mauve 
That soothe the fiery day. 

I know her not by plumping nuts, 
By redded hips and haws, 

Or by the silence hanging sad 
Under the wind's sere pause. 

But by her sighs I know her well — 
They are like Sorrow's breath; 

And by this longing, strangely still, 
For something after death. 
57 



SHINTO 
(MiYAjiMA, Japan, 1905) 

Lowly temple and torii, 

Shrine where the spirits of wind and wave 

Find the worship and glory we 

Give to the one God great and grave — 

Lowly temple and torii, 
Shrine of the dead, I hang my prayer 
Here on your gates — the story see 
And answer out of the earth and air. 

For I am Nature's child, and you 
Were by the children of Nature built. 
Ages have on you smiled — and dew 
On you for ages has been spilt — 
58 



SONG-SURF 59 

Till you are beautiful as Time 
Mossy and mellowing ever makes: 
Wrapped as you are in lull — or rhyme 
Of sounding drum that sudden breaks. 

This is my prayer then, this: that I 
Too may reverence all of life, 
Lose no power and miss no high 
Awe, of a world with wonder rife I 

That I may build in spirit fair 
Temples and torii on each place 
That I have loved — Oh, hear it, Air, 
Ocean and Earth, and grant your grace I 



MAYA 

(Hiroshima, Japan, 1905) 

Pale sampans up the river glide, 
With set sails vanishing and slow; 

In the blue west the mountains hide, 
As visions that too soon will go. 

Across the rice-lands, flooded deep. 
The peasant peacefully wades on — 

As, in unfurrowed vales of sleep, 
A phantom out of voidness drawn. 

Over the temple cawing flies 
The crow with carrion in his beak. 

Buddha within Hfts not his eyes 
In pity or reproval meek; 
60 



SONG-SURF 6i 

Nor, in the bamboos, where they bow 
A respite from the blinding sun, 

The old priest — dreaming painless how 
Nirvana's calm will come when won. 

"All is illusion, Maya^ all 

The world of will," the spent East seems 
Whispering in me; ''and the call 

Of Life is but a call of dreams." 



A JAPANESE MOTHER 

(In Time of War) 

The young stork sleeps in the pine-tree tops, 

Down on the brink of the river. 
My baby sleeps by the bamboo copse — 
The bamboo copse where the rice field stops: 
The bamboos sigh and shiver. 

The white fox creeps from his hole in the hill; 

I must pray to Inari. 
I hear her calling me low and chill — 
Low and chill when the wind is still 

At night and the skies hang starry. 

And ever she says, "He's dead! he's dead! 
Your lord who went to battle. 
62 



SONG-SURF 63 

How shall your baby now be fed, 
Ukibo fed, with rice and bread — 
What if I hush his prattle?" 

The red moon rises as I slip back, 

And the bamboo stems are swaying. 
Inari was deaf — and yet the lack. 
The fear and lack, are gone, and the rack, 
I know not why — with praying. 

For though Inari cared not at all. 

Some other god was kinder. 
I wonder why he has heard my call. 
My giftless call — and what shall befall?. . . 

Hope has but left me blinder! 



THE DEAD GODS 

I THOUGHT I plunged into that dire Abyss 
Which is Oblivion, the house of Death. 
I thought there blew upon my soul the breath 
Of time that was but never more can be. 



Ten thousand years within its void I thought 
I lay, blind, deaf, and motionless, until — 
Though with no eye nor ear — I felt the thrill 
Of seeing, heard its phantoms move and sigh. 



First one beside me spoke, in tones that told 
He once had been a god — ''Persephone, 
Tear from thy brow its withered crown, for we 
Are king and queen of Tartarus no more; 
64 



SONG-SURF 65 

"And that wan, shrivelled sceptre in thy hand, 
Why dost thou clasp it still ? Cast it away, 
For now it hath no virtue that can sway 
Dull shades or drive the Furies to their spoil. 



"Cast it away, and give thy palm to mine: 
Perchance some unobliterated spark 
Of memory shall warm this dismal Dark. 
Perchance — Vain! vain! love could not light such 
gloom." 

He sank. . . . Then in great ruin by him moved 
Another as in travail of some thought 
Near unto birth; and soon from lips distraught 
By aged silence, fell, with hollow woe: 

"Ah, Pluto, dost thou, one time lord of Styx 
And Acheron make moan of night and cold? 
Were we upon Olympus as of old 
Laughter of thee would rock its festal height. 



66 SONG-SURF 

" But think, think thee of me, to whom or gloom 
Or cold were more unknown than impotence! 
See the unhurled thunderbolt brought hence 
To mock me when I dream I still am Jove!'* 



Too much it was: I withered in the breath; 

And lay again ten thousand lifeless years; 

And then my soul shook, woke — and saw three biers 

Chiselled of solid night majestically. 



The forms outlaid upon them were enwound 
As with the silence of eternity. 
Numbing repose dwelt o'er them like a sea, 
That long hath lost tide, wave and roar, in death. 



"Ptah, Ammon, and Osiris are their names," 
A spirit hieroglyphed unto my soul. 
"Ptah, Ammon, and Osiris — they who stole 
The heart of Egypt from the God of gods; 



SONG-SURF 67 

"Aye, they! and these!" pointing to many wraiths 
That stood around — Baal, Ormuzd, Indra, all 
Whom frightened ignorance and sin's appall 
Had given birth, close-huddled in despair. 



Their eyes were fixed upon a cloven slope 
Down whose descent still other forms a-fresh 
From earth were drawn, by the unceasing mesh 
Of Time to their irrevocable end. 



"They are the gods," one said — "the gods whom 

men 
Still taunt with wails for help." — Then a deep light 
Upbore me from the Gulf, and thro' its might 
I heard the worlds cry, "God alone is God!" 



CALL TO YOUR MATE, BOB-WHITE 

O CALL to your mate, bob-white, bob-white, 

And I will call to mine. 
Call to her by the meadow-gate, 

And I will call by the pine. 



Tell her the sun is hid, bob-white, 
The windy wheat sways west. 

Whistle again, call clear and run 
To lure her out of her nest. 



For when to the copse she comes, shy bird, 

With Mary down the lane 
I'll walk, in the dusk of the locust tops, 

And be her lover again. 
68 



SONG-SURF 69 

Ay, we will forget our hearts are old, 

And that our hair is gray. 
We'll kiss as we kissed at pale sunset 

That summer's halcyon day. 

That day, can it fade ? ... ah, bob, bob-white, 

Still calling — caUing still? 
We're coming — a-coming, bent and weighed. 

But glad with the old love's thrill! 



THE DYING POET 

Swing in thy splendour, O silent sun, 
Drawing my heart with thee over the west! 
Done is its day as thy day is done. 
Fallen its quest! 



Swoon into purple and rose, then die: 
Tho' to arise again out of the dawn: 
Die as I praise thee, ere thro' the Dark Lie 
Of death I am drawn! 



Sunk? art thou sunken? how great was life! 
I like a child could cry for it again — 
Cry for its beauty, pang, fleeting and strife, 
Its women, its men! 
70 



SONG-SURF 71 

For, how I drained it with love and delight! 
Opened its heart with the magic of grief! 
Reaped every season — its day and its night! 
Loved every sheaf! 



Aye, not a meadow my step has trod, 
Never a flower swung sweet to my face, 
Never a heart that was touched of God, 
But taught me its grace. 



Off from my lids then a moment yet. 
Fingering Death, for again I must see 
Lifted by memory all that I met 
Under Timers lee. 



There! . . . I'm a child again — fair, so fair! 
Under the eyes does a marvel not burn ? 
Speak they not vision — and frenzy to dare, 
That still in me yearn? . . . 



7a SONG-SURF 

Youth! my wild youth! — O, blood of my heart, 
Still you can answer with swirling the thought! 
Still like the mountain-born rapid can dart, 
Joyous, distraught! . . . 



Love, and her face again! there by the wood! — 
Come, thou invisible Dark with thy mask! 
Shall I not learn if she Uves ? and could 
I more of thee ask ? . . . 



Turn me away from the ashen west, 
Where love's sad planet unveils to the dusk. 
Something is stealing Hke Ught from my breast — 
Soul from its husk . . . 



Soft! . . . Where the dead feel the buried dead, 
Where the high hermit-bell hourly tolls. 
Bury me, near to the haunting tread 
Of life that o'errolls. 



THE OUTCAST 



I DID not fear, 

But crept close up to Christ and said, 

**Is he not here?" 



They drew me back — 

The seraphs who had never bled 

Of weary lack — 

But still I cried, 

With torn robe, clutching at His feet, 

"Dear Christ! He died 

"So long agol 

Is he not here? Three days, unfleet 
As mortal flow 
73 



74 SONG-SURF 

"Of time I've sought — 

Till Heaven's amaranthine ways 

Seem as sere nought!" 

A grieving stole 

Up from His heart and waned the gaze 

Of His clear soul 

Into my eyes. 

"He is not here," troubled He sighed. 

"For none who dies 

"Beliefless may 

Bend Hps to this sin-healing Tide, 

And live alway." 

Then darkness rose 

Within me, and drear bitterness. 

Out of its throes 

I moaned, at last, 

"Let me go hence! Take off the dress, 

The charms Thou hast 



SONG-SURF 75 

"Around me strown! 
Beliefless too am I without 
His love — and lone!" 

Unto the Gate 

They led me, tho' with pitying doubt. 

I did not wait 

But stepped across 

Its portal, turned not once to heed 

Or know my loss. 

Then my dream broke,' 

And with it every loveless creed — 

Beneath love's stroke. 



APRIL 

A LAUGHTER of wind and a leaping of cloud, 

And April, oh, out under the blue! 
The brook is awake and the blackbird loud 
In the dew! 



But how does the robin high in the beech, 

Beside the wood with its shake and toss. 
Know it — the frenzy of bluets to reach 
Thro' the moss! 



And where did the lark ever learn his speech ? 

Up, wildly sweet, he's over the mead! 
Is more than the rapture of earth can teach 
In its creed? 

76 



SONG-SURF 77 

I never shall know — I never shall care! 

'Tis, oh, enough to live and to love! 
To laugh and warble and dream and dare 
Are to prove! 



AUGUST GUESTS 

The wind slipt over the hill 

And down the valley. 
He dimpled the cheek of the rill 

With a cooling kiss. 
Then hid on the bank a-glee 

And began to rally 
The rushes — Oh, 

I love the wind for this! 

A cloud blew out of the west 

And spilt his shower 
Upon the lily-bud crest 

And the clematis. 
Then over the virgin corn 

Besprinkled a dower 
Of dew-gems — And, 

I love the cloud for this! 
78 • 



TO A DOVE 



I 



Thy mellow passioning amid the leaves, 
That tremble dimly in the summer dusk, 
Falls sad along the oatland's sallow sheaves 
And haunts above the runnel's voice a-husk 
With plashy willow and bold-wading reed. 
The solitude's dim spell it breaketh not. 
But softer mourns unto me from the mead 
Than airs that in the wood intoning start, 
Or breath of silences in dells begot 
To soothe some grief-wan soul with sin a-smart. 



A votaress art thou of Simplicity, 
Who hath one fane — the heaven above thy nest; 
79 



8o SONG-SURF 

One incense — love; one stealing litany 

Of peace from rivered vale and upland crest. 

Yea, thou art Hers, who makes prayer of the breeze, 

Hope of the cool upwelling from sweet soils, 

Faith of the darkening distance, charities 

Of vesper scents, and of the glow-worm's throb 

Joy whose first leaping rends the care-wound coils 

That would earth of its heavenliness rob. 



3 

But few, how few her worshippers! For we 
Cast at a myriad shrines our souls, to rise 
Beliefless, unanointed, bound not free, 
To sacrificing a vain sacrifice! 
Let thy lone innocence then quickly null 
Within our veins doubt-led and wrong desire — 
Or drugging knowledge that but fills o'erfuU 
Of feverous mystery the days we drain! 
Be thy warm notes Hke an Orphean lyre 
To lead us to life's Arcady again! 



AT TINTERN ABBEY 
(June, 1903) 

O TiNTERN, Tintern! evermore my dreams 
Troubled by thy grave beauty shall be born; 
Thy crumbling loveliness and ivy streams 
Shall speak to me for ever, from this morn; 
The wind-wild daws about thy arches drifting, 
Clouds sweeping o'er thy ruin to the sea, 
Gray Tintern, all the hills about thee, lifting 
Their misty waving woodland verdancy! 

The centuries that draw thee to the earth 
In envy of thy desolated charm. 
The summers and the winters, the sky's girth 
Of sunny blue or bleakness, seek thy harm. 
8z 



82 SONG-SURF 

But would that I were Time, then only tender 
Touch upon thee should fall as on I sped ; 
Of every pillar would I be defender, 
Of every mossy window — of thy dead! 

Thy dead beneath obliterated stones 
Upon the sod that is at last thy floor, 
Who list the Wye not as it lonely moans 
Nor heed thy Gothic shadows grieving o'er. 
O Tintern, Tintern! trysting-place, where never 
Are wanting mysteries that move the breast, 
I'll hear thy beauty caUing, ah, for ever — 
Till sinks within me the last voice to rest! 



OH, GO NOT OUT 

Oh, go not out upon the storm, 
Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool! 
A witch tho' she be dead may charm 
Thee and befool. 



A wild night 'tis! her lover's moan, 
Down under ooze and salty weed, 
She'll make thee hear — and then her own! 
Till thou shalt heed. 



And it will suck upon thy heart — 
The sorcery within her cry — 
Till madness out of thee upstart. 
And rage to die. 
83 



84 SONG-SURF 

For him she loved, she laughed to death! 
And as afloat his chill hand lay, 
*'Ha, ha! to hell I sent his wraith!" 
Did she not say ? 

And from his finger strive to draw 
The ring that bound him to her spell? 
Till on her closed his hand whose awe 
No curse could quell? 

Oh, yea! and tho' she struggled pale, 
Did it not hold her cold and fast, 
Till crawled the tide o'er rock and swale, 
To her at last? 

Down in the pool where she was swept 
He holds her — Oh, go not a-near! 
For none has heard her cry but wept 
And died that year. 



HUMAN LOVE 

We spoke of God and Fate, 

And of that Life — which some await 

Beyond the grave. 
"It will be fair," she said, 
"But love is here! 
I only crave thy breast 
Not God's when I am dead. 
For He nor wants nor needs 

My Httle love. 
But it may be, if I love thee 
And those whose sorrow daily bleeds, 
He knows — and somehow heeds!" 



85 



ASHORE 

What are the heaths and hills to me? 

I'm a-longing for the sea! 
What are the flowers that dapple the dell, 
And the ripple of swallow- wings over the dusk; 
What are the church and the folk who tell 
Their hearts to God? — my heart is a husk! 

(I'm a-longing for the sea!) 

Aye! for there is no peace to me — 

But on the peaceless sea! 
Never a child was glad at my knee, 
And the soul of a woman has never been mine. 
What can a woman's kisses be ? — 
I fear to think how her arms would twine. 

(I'm a-longing for the sea!) 
86 



SONG-SURF 87 

So, not a home and ease for me — 

But still the homeless sea! 
Where I may swing my sorrow to sleep 
In a hammock hung o'er the voice of the waves, 
Where I may wake when the tempests heap 
And hurl their hate — and a brave ship saves. 

(I'm a- longing for the sea!) 

Then when I die, a grave for me — 

But in the graveless sea! 
Where is no stone for an eye to spell 
Thro' the lichen a name, a date and a verse. 
Let me be laid in the deeps that swell 
And sigh and wander — an ocean hearse! 

(I'm a-longing for the sea!) 



THE VICTORY 

See, see ! — the blows at his breast, 

The abyss at his back, 
The perils and pains that pressed, 

The doubts in a pack, 
That hunted to drag him down 

Have triumphed? and now 
He sinks, who climbed for the crown 

To the Summit's brow? 

No! — though at the foot he lies, 

Fallen and vain, 
With gaze to the peak whose skies 

He could not attain. 
The victory is, with strength — 

No matter the past! — 
He'd dare it again, the dark length, 

And the fall at last! 
88 



AT WINTER'S END 

The weedy fallows winter-worn, 
Where cattle shiver under sodden hay. 
The plough-lands long and lorn — 
The fading day. 

The sullen shudder of the brook, 
And winds that wring the writhen trees in vain 
For drearier sound or look — 
The lonely rain. 

The crows that train o'er desert skies 
In endless caravans that have no goal 
But flight — where darkness flies — 
From Pole to Pole. 

89 



90 SONG-SURF 

The sombre zone of hills around 
That shrink in misty mournfulness from sight, 
With sunset aureoles crowned — 
Before the night. 



MOTHER-LOVE 

The seraphs would sing to her 

And from the River 

Dip her cool grails of radiant Life. 

The angels would bring to her, 

Sadly a-quiver, 

Laurels she never had won in earth-strife. 

And often they'd fly with her 

O'er the star-spaces — 

Silent by worlds where mortals are pent. 

Yea, even would sigh with her, 

Sigh with wan faces! 

When she sat weeping of strange discontent. 

But one said, "Why weepest thou 

Here in God's heaven — 

Is it not fairer than soul can see?" 

91 



92 SONG-SURF 

" 'Tis fair, ah! — but keepest thou 
Not me depriven 

Of some one — somewhere — who needeth most 
me? 

"For tho' the day never fades 

Over these meadows, 

Tho' He has robed me and crowned — yet, yet! 

Some love-fear for ever shades 

All with sere shadows — 

Had I no child there — whom I forget?" 



TO A SINGING WARBLER 

" Beauty ! all — all — is beauty ? " 

Was ever a bird so wrong! 
"No young in the nest, no mate, no duty?" 

Ribald! is this your song? 



"Glad it is ended," are you? 

The Spring and its nuptial fear ? 
"And freedom is better than love?" beware you, 

There will be May next year! 



"Beauty!" again, still "beauty"? 

Wait till the winter comes! 
Till kestrel and hungry kite seek booty 

And the bleak cold benumbs! 

93 



94 SONG-SURF 

Wait? nay, fling it to heaven 
The false little song you prate! 

Too sweet are its fancies not to leaven 
Even the rudest fate! 



SONGS TO A. H. R. 



THE WORLD'S, AND MINE 

The world may hear 
The wind at his trees, 
The lark in her skies. 
The sea on his leas; 
May hear Song rise 
On words as immortal 
As any that sound 
Thro' Heaven's Portal. 
But I have a music they can never know — 
The touch of you, soul of you, heart of you, Oh! 
All else that is said or sung 's but a part of you — 
Be it forever so ! 

95 



96 . SONG-SURF 



II 



LOVE-CALL IN SPRING 

Not only the lark but the robin too 

(Oh, heart o' my heart, come into the wood !) 

Is singing the air to gladness new 

As the breaking bud 

And the freshet's flood! 

Not only the peeping grass and the scent -- 
(Oh, love o' my life, fly unto me here!) 
Of violets coming ere April's spent — 

But the frog's shrill cheer 

And the crow's wild jeer! 

Not only the blue, not only the breeze, 
(Oh, soul o' my heart, why tarry so long!) 
But sun that is sweeter upon the trees 

Than rills that throng 

To the brooklet's song! 



SONG-SURF 97 

Oh, heart o' my heart, oh, heart o' my love, 
(Oh soul o' my soul, haste unto me, haste!) 
For spring is below and God is above — 

But all is a waste 

Without thee — haste I 



III 



MATING 



The bliss of the wind in the redbud ringing 
What shall we do with the April days! 

Kingcups soon will be up and swinging — 
What shall we do with May's ! 



The cardinal flings, ''They are made for mating! " 
Out on the bough he flutters, a flame. 

Thrush-flutes echo, "For mating's elating! 
Love is its other name!" 



pg SONG-SURF 

They know! know it! but better, oh, better, 
Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring, 

Know we to make each moment debtor 
Unto love's burgeoning! 

IV 

UNTOLD 

Could I, a poet, 

Implant the truth of you, 

Seize it and sow it 

As Spring on the world. 

There were no need 

To fling (forsooth) of you 

Fancies that only lovers heed! 

No, but unfurled. 

The bloom, the sweet of you, 

(As unto me they are opened oft) 

Would with their beauty's breath repeat of you 

All that my heart breathes loud or soft! 



SONG-SURF 99 

V 

LOVE-WATCH 

My love's a guardian-angel 

Who camps about thy heart, 
Never to flee thine enemy, 

Nor from thee turn apart. 

Whatever dark may shroud thee 

And hide thy stars away, 
With vigil sweet his wings shall beat 

About thee till the day. 

VI 

AT AMALFI 

Come to the window, you who are mine. 

Waken! the night is calling. 
Sit by me here — with the moon's fair shine 

Into your deep eyes falling. 



SONG-SURF 

The sea afar is a fearful gloom; 

Lean from the casement, listen! 
Anear it breaks with a faery spume, 

Spraying the rocks that glisten. 



The little white town below lies deep 

As eternity in slumber. 
O, you who are mine, how a glance can reap 

Beauties beyond all number! 



And, how as sails that at anchor ride 
Our spirits rock together 

On a sea of love — lit as this tide 
With tenderest star- weather I 



Till the gray dawn is redd'ning up, 

Over the moon low-lying. 
Come, come away — we have drunk the cup: 

Ours is the dream undying! 



SONG-SURF 
VII 

ON THE PACIFIC 

A STORM broods far on the foam of the deep ; 

The moon-path gleams before. 
A day and a night, a night and a day, 

And the way, love, will be o'er. 



Six thousand wandering miles we have come 

And never a sail have seen. 
The sky above and the sea below 

And the drifting clouds between. 



Yet in our hearts unheaving hope 
And light and joy have slept. 

Nor ever lonely has seemed the wave 
Tho' heaving wild it leapt. 



SONG-SURF 

For there is talismanic might 

Within our vows of love 
To breathe us over all seas of life 



On to that Port, above, 



Where the great Captain of all ships 
Shall anchor them or send 

Them forth on a vaster Voyage, yea, 
On one that shall not end. 



And upon that we two, I think, 
Together still shall sail. 

Oh, may it be, my own, or may 
We perish in death's gale! 



THE ATONER 

Winter has come in sackcloth and ashes 
(Penance for Summer's enverdured sheaves). 
Bitterly, cruelly, bleakly he lashes 
His Umbs that are naked of grass and leaves. 



He moans in the forest for sins unforgiven 
(Sins of the revelous days of June) — 
Moans while the sun drifts dull from the heaven, 
Giftless of heat's beshriving boon. 



Long must he mourn, and long be his scourging, 
(Long will the day-god aloof frown cold), 
Long will earth listen the rue of his dirging — 
Till the dark beads of his days are told. 
103 



TO THE SPRING WIND 

. Ah, what a changeling! 
Yester you dashed from the west, 

Altho' it is Spring, 
And scattered the hail with maniac zest 
Thro' the shivering corn — in scorn 
For the labour of God and man. 
And now from the plentiful South you haste, 

With lovingest fingers, 
To ruefully lift and wooingly fan 
The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk; 

As if the chill waste 

Of the earth's May-dreams, 
The flowers so full of her joy, 

Were not — as it seems — 
A wanton attempt to destroy. 

t04 



THE RAMBLE 

Down the road which asters tangle, 
Thro' the gap where green-briar twines, 
By the path where dry leaves dangle 
Sere from the ivv vines 



We go — by sedgy fallows 
And along the stifled brook, 
Till it stops in lushy mallows 
Just at the bridge's crook. 



Then, again, o'er fence, thro' thicket, 
To the mouth of the rough ravine, 
Where the weird leaf-hidden cricket 
Chirrs thro' the weirder green, 
105 _ 



io6 SONG-SURF 

There's a way, o'er rocks — but quicker 
Is the beat of heart and foot, 
As the beams above us flicker 
Sun upon moss and root! 



And we leap — as wildness tingles 
From the air into our blood — | 
With a cry thro' golden dingles 
Hid in the heart of the wood. 



Oh, the wood with winds a- wrestle! 
With the nut and acorn strown! 
Oh, the wood where creepers trestle 
Tree unto tree o'ergrown! 



With a climb the ledging summit 
Of the hill is reached in glee. 
For an hour we gaze off from it 
Into the sky's blue sea. 



SONG-SURF 107 

But a bell and sunset's crimson 
Soon recall the homeward path. 
And we turn as the glory dims on 
The hay-field's mounded math. 



Thro' the soft and silent twilight 
We come, to the stile at last, 
As the clear undying eyelight 
Of the stars tells day is past. 



RETURN 

Ah, it was here — September 
And silence filled the air — 
I came last year to remember, 
And muse, hid away from care. 
It was here I came — the thistle 
Was trusting her seed to the wind; 
The quail in the croft gave whistle 
As now — and the fields lay thinned. 

I know how the hay was steeping, 
Brown mows under mellow haze; 
How a frail cloud-flock was creeping 
As now over lone sky-ways. 
Just there where the catbird's calling 
Her mock-hurt note by the shed. 
The use-worn wain was stalling 
In the weedy brook's dry bed. 
io8 



SONG-SURF 

And the cricket, lone little chimer 
Of day-long dreams in the vines, 
Chirred on like a doting rhymer 
O'er-vain of his firstling lines. 
He's near me now by the aster, 
Beneath whose shadowy spray 
A sultry bee seeps faster 
As the sun slips down the day. 

And there are the tall primroses 
Like maidens waiting to dance. 
They stood in the same shy poses 
Last year, as if to entrance 
The stately mulleins to waken 
From death and lead them around: 
And still they will stand untaken, 
Till drops their gold to the ground. 

Yes, it was here — September 
And silence round me yearned. 
Again I've come to remember. 



109 



SONG-SURF 

Again for musing returned 
To the searing fields' assuaging, 
And the falling leaves' sad balm: 
Away from the world's keen waging 
To harvest and hills and calm. 



LISETTE 

Oh . . . there was love in her heart — no doubt 
of it — 
Under the anger. 
But see what came out of it! 

Not a knave, he ! — A smitten rhyme-smatterer, 

Cloaking in languor 
And heartache to flatter her. 

And just as a woman will — even the best of them — 

She yielded — brittle. 
God spare me the rest of them! 

For! though but kisses — she swore! — he had of her, 

Was it so little? 
She thought 'twas not bad of her, 



112 SONG-SURF 

Said I would lavish a burning hour-full 

On any grisette. 
And silenced me, powerful! 

But she was mine, and blood is inflammable — 

For a Lisette! 
My rage was undammable. . . . 

Could a stiletto's one prick be prettier ? 

Look at the gaping. 
No? — then you're her pi tier! 

Pah! she's the better, and I . . . I'm your 
prisoner. 
Loose me the strapping — 
I'll lay one more kiss on her. 



FROM ONE BLIND 

I CANNOT say thy cheek is like the rose, 
Thy hair like rippled sunbeams, and thine eyes 
Like violets, April-rich and sprung of God. 
My barren gaze can never know what throes 
Such boons of beauty waken, tho' I rise 
Each day a-tremble with the ruthless hope 
That light will pierce my useless Hds — then grope 
Till night, blind as the worm within his clod. 

Yet unto me thou art not less divine, 
I touch thy cheek — and know the mystery hid 
Within the twiUght breeze; I smooth thy hair 
And understand how slipping hours may twine 
Themselves into eternity: yea, rid 
Of all but love, I kiss thine eyes and seem 
To see all beauty God Himself may dream. 
Why then should I o'ermuch for earth-sight care ? 
"3. 



IN A CEMETERY 

When Autumn's melancholy robes the land 
With silence, and sad fadings mystical 
Of other years move thro' the mellow fields, 
I turn unto this meadow of the dead, 
Strewn with the leaves stormed from October trees, 
And wonder if my resting shall be dug 
Here by this cedar's moan or under the sway 
Of yonder cypress — lair of winds that rove 
As Valkyries sent from Valhalla's court 
In search of worthy slain. 
And sundry times with questioning I tease 
The entombed of their estate — seeking to know 
Whether 'tis sweeter in the grave to feel 
The oblivion of Nature's silent flow, 
Or here to wander wistful o'er her face. 
Whether the harvesting of pain and joy 
114 



SONG-SURF IIS 

Which men call Life ends so, or whether death 
Pours the warm chrism of Immortality 
Into each human heart whose glow is spent. 

And oft the Silence hears me. For a voice 
Of sighing wind may answer, or a gaze, 
Though wordless, from a marble seraph's face. 
Or sometimes from unspeakable deeps of gold, 
That ebb along the west, revealings wing 
And tremble, Hke ethereal swift tongues 
Unskilled of human speech, about my heart — 
Till youth, age, death, even earth's all, it seems, 
Are but brave moments wakened in that Soul, 
To whom infinities are as a span, 
Eternities as bird-flights o'er the sun. 
And worlds as sands blown from Sahara's wilds 
Into the ceaseless surging of the sea. . , . . 

Then twilight hours lead back my wandered spirit 
From out the wilderness of mystery 
Whence none may find a path to the Unknown, 
And chastened to content I turn me home. 



WAKING 

Oh, the long dawn, the weary, endless dawn, 
When sleep's oblivion is torn away 
From love that died with dying yesterday 
But still unburied in the heart lies on! 



Oh, the sick gray, the twitter in the trees. 
The sense of human waking o'er the earth! 
The quivering memories of love's fair birth 
Now strown as deathless flowers o'er its decease! 



Oh, the regret, and oh, regretlessness, 
Striving for sovran ty within the soul! 
Oh, fear that life shall never more be whole, 
And immortality but make it less! 
ii6 



STORM-EBB 

Dusking amber dimly creeps 

Over the vale, 
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps, 

Sad with his wail. 



Eastward swing the silent clouds 

Into the night. 
Burdens of day they seem — in crowds 

Hurled from earth's sight. 



Tilting gulls whip whitely far 

Over the lake, 
Tirelessly on o'er buoy and spar 

Till they o'ertake 
117 



ii8 SONG-SURF 

Shadow and mingled mist — and then 

Vanish to wing 
Still the bewildering night-fen, 

Where the waves ring. 

Dusking amber dimly dies 

Out of the vale. 
Dead from the dunes the winds arise — 

Ghosts of the gale. 



LINGERING 



I LINGERED Still when you were gone, 
When tryst and trust were o'er, 

While memory like a wounded swan 
In sorrow sung love's lore. 



I lingered till the whippoorwill 
Had cried delicious pain 

Over the wild-wood — in its thrill 
I heard your voice again. 



I lingered and the mellow breeze 
Blew to me sweetly dewed — 

Its touch awoke the sorceries 
Your last caresses brewed, 
no 



I30 SONG-SURF 

But when the night with silent start 
Had sown her starry seed, 

The harvest which sprang in my heart 
Was loneliness and need. 



FAUN-CALL 

Oh, who is he will follow me 

With a singing, 
Down sunny roads where windy odes 

Of the woods are ringing? 



Where leaves are tossed from branches lost 

In a tangle 
Of vines that vie to clamber high — 

But to vault and dangle! 



Oh, who is he ? — His eye must be 

As a lover's 
To leap and woo the chicory's hue 

In the hazel-hovers! 

121 



122 SONG-SURF 

His hope must dance like radiance 

That hurries 
To scatter shades from the silent glades 

Where the quick hare scurries. 



And he must see that Autumn's glee 

And her laughter 
From his lips and heart will quell all smart 

Of before and after! 



THE LIGHTHOUSEMAN 

When at evening smothered lightnings 
Burn the clouds with fretted fires; 
When the stars forget to glisten, 
And the winds refuse to listen 
To the song of my desires, 
Oh, my love, unto thee! 

When the Hvid breakers angered 
Churn against my stormy tower; 
When the petrel flying faster 
Brings an omen to the master 
Of his vessel's fated hour — 
Oh, the reefs! ah, the sea! 

Then I climb the climbing stairway. 
Turn the light across the storm; 
"3 



124 SONG-SURF 

You are watching, fisher-maiden 
For the token-flashes laden 
With a love death could not harm — 
Lo, they come, swift and free! 

One — that means, ''I think of thee!" 

Two — ''I swear me thine!" 
Three — Ah, hear me tho' you sleep! — 

Is, that I know thee mine! 
rhro* the darkness, One, Two, Three, 

All the night they sweep: 
Thro' raging darkness o'er the deep. 

One — and Two — and Three. 



SERENITY 

And could I love it more — this simple scene 
Of cot-strewn hills and fields long-harvested, 
That lie as if forgotten were all green, 
So bare, so dead! 



Or could my gaze more tenderly entwine 
Each pallid beech and silvery sycamore 
Outreaching arms in patience to divine 
If winter's o'er? 



Ah no, the wind has blown into my veins 
The blue infinity of sky, the sense 
Of meadows free to-day from icy pains — 
From wintry vents. 

"5 



ra6 SONG-SURF 

And sunny peace more virgin than the glow 
Falling from eve's first star into the night, 
Brings hope believing what it ne'er can know 
With mortal sight. 



WANTON JUNE 

I KNEW she would come! 
Sarcastic November 
Laughed cold and glum 
On the last red ember 
Of forest leaves. 
He was laughing, the scorner, 
At me forlorner 
Than any that grieves — 
Because I asked him if June would come! 

But I knew she would come 
When snow-hearted winter 
Gripped river and loam, 
And the wind sped flinter 
On icy heel, 

127 



128 SONG-SURF 

I was chafing my sorrow 
And yearning to borrow 
A hope that would steal 
Across the hours — till June should come. 



And now she is here — 
The wanton! — I follow 
Her steps, ever near, 
To the shade of the hollow 
Where violets blow: 
And chide her for leaving, 
Tho' half believing 
She taunted me so, 
To make her abided return more dear. 



SPIRIT OF RAIN 

(MlYANOSHITA, JAPAN, 1905) 

Spirit of rain — 
With all thy mountain mists that wander lonely 

As a gray train 
Of souls newly discarnate seeking new life only! 

Spirit of rain! 
Leading them thro' dim torii, up fane-ways onward 

Till not in vain 
They tremble upon the peaks and plunge rejoicing 
dawnward. 

Spirit of rain! 
So would I lead my dead thoughts high and higher, 

Till they regain 
Birth and the beauty of a new life's fire. 
129 



AUTUMN AT THE BRIDGE 

Brown dropping of leaves, 
Soft rush of the wind, 
Slow searing of sheaves 

On the hill; 
Green plunging of frogs, 
Cool lisp of the brook, 
Far barking of dogs 

At the mill; 
Hot hanging of clouds. 
High poise of the hawk. 
Flush laughter of crowds 

From the Ridge; 
Nut-falling, quail-calling, 
Wheel-rumbling, bee-mumbling - 
Oh, sadness, gladness, madness. 
Of an autumn day at the bridgel 
130 



TEARLESS 

Do WOMEN weep when men have died? 

It cannot be! 
For I have sat here by his side, 
Breathing dear names against his face, 
That he must Hst to, were his place 

Over God's throne — 
Yet have I wept no tear and made no moan. 



Do women weep — not gaze stone-eyed? 

Grief seems in vain. 
Do women weep ? — I was his bride — 
They brought him to me cold and pale — 
Upon his lids I saw the trail 

Of deathly pain. 
They said, "Her tears will fall like autumn rain." 
131 



132 SONG-SURF 

I cannot weep! Not if hot tears, 

Dropped on his lids, 
Might burn hi n back to life and years 
Of yearning love, would any rise 
To flood the anguish from my eyes — 

And I'm his bride! 
Ah me, do women weep when men have died ? 



SUNSET-LOVERS 

Upon how many a hill, 

Across how many a field, 

Beside how many a river's restful flowing, 

They stand, with eyes a-thrill, 

And hearts of day-rue healed, 

Gazing, O wistful sun, upon thy going! 

They have forgotten Hfe, 

Forgotten sunless death; 

Desire is gone — is it not gone for ever ? 

No memory of strife 

Have they, or pain-sick breath. 

No hopes to fear or fears hope cannot sever. 

Silent the gold steals down 
The west, and mystery 

^33 



134 SONG-SURF 

Moves deeper in their hearts and settles darker. 

*Tis faded — the day's crown; 

But strange and shadowy 

They see the Unseen as night falls stark and starker. 

Like priests whose altar fires 

Are spent, immovable 

They stand, in awful ecstasy uplifted. 

Zephyrs awake tree-lyres, 

The starry deeps are full, 

Earth with a mystic majesty is gifted. 

Ah, sunset-lovers, though 

Time were but pulsing pain, 

And death no more than its eternal ceasing, 

Would you not choose the throe, 

Hold the oblivion vain, 

To have beheld so many a day's releasing? 



THE EMPTY CROSS 

The eve of Golgotha had come, 

And Christ lay shrouded in the garden Tomb: 

Among the olives, Oh, how dumb, 

How sad the sun incarnadined the gloom! 



The hill grew dim — the pleading cross 
Reached empty arms toward the closing gate. 
Jerusalem, oh, count thy loss! 
Oh, hear ye! hear ye! ere it be too late! 



Reached bleeding arms — but how in vain! 
The murmurous multitude within the wall 
Abeady had forgot His pain — 
To-morrow would forget the cross — and all! 

135 



136 SONG-SURF 

They knew not Rome, before its sign, 
Bending her brow bound with the nations* threne, 
Would sweep all lands from Nile to Rhine 
In servitude unto the Nazarene. 

Nor knew that millions would forsake 
Ancestral shrines great with the glow of time. 
And Hfting up its token shake 
Aeons with thrill of love or battle's crime. 

With empty arms aloft it stood: 

Ah, Scribe and Pharisee, ye builded well! 

The cross emblotted with His blood 

Mounts, highest Hope of men, against earth's hell! 



UNBURTHENED 

Not grief nor the sunny wine 

Of gladness steeps my spirit as I gaze 

Over these meads that lie engarmented 

In stubble robes of winter-weary brown. 

For, as those solitary trees afar 

Have reached unbudding boughs to the dim day 

And melted on the infinite calm of space, 

So have I reached, and am no more distraught 

With the quivering pangs of memory's yesterday. 

But the boon of blue skies deeper than despair, 

Of rest that rises as a tide of sleep, 

Of care borne on the plumes of swan-swift clouds 

Away to the sullen shades of the low west, 

Have lulled my soul with soft infinitude — 

And lent it faith's illimitable Peace. 

J37 



SONG 

Her voice is vibrant beauty dipt 

In dreams of infinite sorrow and delight. 

Thro* an awaiting soul *tis slipt 

And lo, words spring that breathe immortal might. 



tjs 



TO HER WHO SHALL COME 



Out of the night of lovelessness I call 
Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no rays 
Of unbelievable light and freedom fall, 
Might cry one manacled! And tho' the ways 
Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore 
With emptiness when morning's silent grays 
Wake me to long aloneness; yet I know 
Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go 
Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore I 



So in the garden of my heart each day 

I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace, 

And now the lily, faith — or now a spray 

Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease 

139 



140 SONG-SURF 

Around the still unblossoming rose of love 
To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway. 
Then — for thy shelter from hfe's sultrier suns, 
The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs 
With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above. 

3 

But where now art thou ? Watching with love's eye 

The eve-star wander ? Listening through dim trees 

Some thrilled muezzin of the forest cry 

From his leafy minaret ? Or by the sea's 

Blue brim, while the spectral moon half o'er it hangs 

Like the faery isle of Avalon, do these 

My yearnings speak to thee of days thy feet 

Have never trod ? — Sweet, sweet, oh, more than 

sweet. 
My own, must be our meeting's mystic pangs. 

4 
And will be soon! For last night near to-day, 
Dreaming, God called me thro' the space-built 
sphere 



SONG-SURF 141 

Of heaven and said, " Come, waiting one, and lay 
Thine ear unto my Heart — there thou shalt hear 
The secrets of this world where evils war." 
Such things I heard as must rend mortal clay 
To tell, and trembled — till God, pitying. 
Said, ** Listen" . . . Oh, my love, I heard thee 

sing 
Out of thy window to the morning star! 



STORM-TWILIGHT 

Tossing, swirling, swept by the wind, 
Beaten abaft by the rain. 

The swallows high in the sodden sky 
Circle oft and again. 



They rise and sink and drift and swing, 

Twitteriess in the chill; 
A-haste, for stark is the coming dark 

Over the wet of the hill. 



Wildly, swiftly, at last they stream 
Into their chimney home. 

A livid gash in the west, a crash — 
Then silence, sadness, gloam. 
142 



SLAVES 

A HOST of bloody centuries lie prone 

Upon the fields of Time — but still the wake 

Of Progress loud is haunted with the groan 

Of myriads, from whose peaceful veins, to slake 

His scarlet thirst, has War, fierce Polypheme 

Of fate, insatiately drunk life's stream. 

We bid the courier lightning leap along 

Its instant path with spirit speed — command 

Stars lost in night-eternity to throng 

Before the magnet eye of Science — stand 

On Glory's peak and triumphingly cry 

Out mastery of earth and sea and air. 

But unto War's necessity we bare 

Our piteous breasts — and impotently die. 



143 



AVOWAL TO THE NIGHTINGALE 

Tho' thou hast ne'er unpent thy pain's delight 
Upon these airs, bird of the poet's love, 
Yet must I sing thy singing! For the Night 
Has poured her jewels o'er the lap of heaven 
As they who hear thee say thou dost above 
The wood such ecstasies as were not given 
By nesthng breasts of Venus to the dove. 

2 

Oft have I watched the moon with her fair gold 
Still clung to by the tattered mists of day 
Arise and look for thee. Then hope grew bold. 
And almost I could see how the near laurels 
Would tremble with thy trembling: but the sway 
Of bards who wreathed thee with unfading chorals 
Has held my longing lips from this poor lay. 
144 



SONG-SURF 145 

3 

But take it now. And if the lark — who is 

Too high for earth — may vie for praise with thee 

In aery rhapsody, yet it is his 

To sing of day and joy, while thou of sorrow 

And night o'erhovering singest. So thou'lt be 

More dear than he — till hearts shall cease to borrow 

From grief the healing for life's mystery. 



WILDNESS 

To drift with the drifting clouds, 

And blow with the blow of breezes, 

To ripple with waves and murmur with caves 

To soar, as the sea-mew pleases! 

To dip with the dipping sails, 
And burn with the burning heaven — 
My Hfe! my soul! for the infinite roll 
Of a day to wildness given! 



146 



BEFORE AUTUMN 

Summer's last moon has waned — 

Waned 
As amber fires 

Of an Aztec shrine. 
The invisible breath of coming death has stained 
The withering leaves with its nepenthean wine — 

Autumn's near. 

Winds in the woodland moan — 

Moan 
As memories 

Of a chilling yore. 
Magnolia seeds like Indian beads are strown 
From crimson pods along the earth's sere floor - 

Autumn's near. 

147 



£48 SONG-SURF 

Solitude slowly steals, 

Steals 
Her silent way 

By the songless brook. 
At the gnarly yoke of a solemn oak she kneels, 
The musing joy of sadness in her look — 

Autumn's near. 

Yes, with her golden days — 

Days 
When hope and toil 

Are at peace and rest — 
Autumn is near, and the tired year 'mid praise 
Lies down with leaf and blossom on his breast — 

Autumn's near. 



FULFILMENT 

A-BASK in the mellow beauty of the ripening sun, 

Sad with the lingering sense of summer's purpose 

done, 

The shorn and searing fields stretch from me one by 

one 

Along the creek. 

The corn-stalks drop their shadows down the fallow 

hill; 

Wearing autumnal warmth the farm sleeps by the mill, 

Around each heavy eave low smoke hangs blue and 

still — 

Life's flow is weak. 

Along the weedy roads and lanes I walk — or pause — 
Ponder a fallen nut or quirking crow whose caws 
Seem with prehuman hintings fraught or ancient awes 
Of forest deeps. 
149 



ISO SONG-SURF 

Of forest deeps the pale-face hunter never trod, 
Nor Indian, with the silent stealth of Nature shod; 
Deeps tense with the timelessness and solitude of God, 
Who never sleeps. 

And many times has Autumn, on her harvest way, 
Gathered again into the earth leaf, fruit, and spray; 
Here many times dwelt rueful as she dwells to-day, 
The while she reaps. 



LAST SIGHT OF LAND 

The clouds in woe hang far and dim: 

I look again, and lo, 
Only a faint and shadow line 

Of shore — I watch it go. 



The gulls have left the ship and wheel 
Back to the cHff's gray wraith. 

Will it be so of all our thoughts 
When we set sail on Death? 



And what will the last sight be of life 

As lone we fare and fast ? 
Grief and the face we love in mist — 

Then night and awe too vast? 



152 SONG-SURF 

Or the dear light of Hope — like that, 
Oh, see, from the lost shore 

Kindling and calling ''Onward, you 
Shall reach the Evermore!" 



SILENCE 

Silence is song unheard, 

Is beauty never born, 
Is light forgotten — left unstirred 

Upon Creation's morn. 

THE END 



153 



SEPi 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



li.*W 



